Café de Délices
by mutietootie
Summary: "Look, Raphael," he said. "You're a good boy. Charlotte and I both agree on that. The question is, why?" *Multi-chapter fic*Updates whenever* why isnt vergier in the character tag you sillies
1. Chapter Un

Chapter Un

It was a warm Sunday, the Parisian breeze carrying wafting scents of freshly cut grass and baking breads for the masses. A young man sat on his tiny apartment's window ledge, enjoying the morn, the wind shifting his hair ever so slightly, while Paris slowly awakened on its resting day. He watched the citizens leisurely stroll across the streets below and waved a hello to those who looked his way. They waved back, as the boy noted who was walking across the streets this morning. There was an artist, shedding supplies while he ran to catch the early morning sky, two twins who cheered at him with gusto, (to which he waved back of course) and a darling old woman who playfully glared at him to shout ,

"Raphael, get down from there! You could hurt yourself!"

"Sorry Paula!" would be his reply each and every day, to which she would yell back,

"…and get out of your pajamas, lazy boy!"

His trusty mutt was still asleep, since last night's heist ran rather late, and dear Fondue was nice enough to tug off his suit and hat while he remained collapsed in the doorway. (His neck still has pains to ring it true.) Deciding that his caretaker deserved an awakening with breakfast, he slid off his perch and headed into the kitchen. He leafed around the refrigerator for ingredients. Eggs, bacon, and… milk? (He took a sniff. Nope, not milk. Slime would be a better name for it.)

Just as the eggs were finishing their time in the pan, he heard the mail flap shutter and a light _fwump_ hitting the tiled floor of the entrance to his home. It was odd, mail never came on Sundays. Could it be? A hand delivered note from his father? He held hold of his optimism until the burner was off, and then skidded his way to the door.

Much to his disappointment, it was not. It was just an envelope with his name quickly scripted on in drippy ink. There was no stamp or return address, which meant it had to have been put there by the writer or one of their associates. It wasn't in his father's style to put such little effort into things such as letters. A perfectionist he was, just like his son. He picked apart the wax seal as carefully as he could, (he was a collector, a habit from when he was young) to unfold the letter inside. He read

"Raphael,

I wish to have a discussion with you. How about over coffee and cake at the Café de Délices today? Half past 10 sound good? See you there.

A fan"

It was hastily scribbled down and it was obvious that little thought went into devising it. It was horribly awkward. It was probably devised by another "ingenious" individual who thought he was the illustrious Phantom R, to, of course, they were right about, but he would never let someone get away with such a secret as that, even if it meant lying to their faces. Even so, he wanted to go anyway, he liked the attention. He sauntered back to where breakfast was sitting, on the way nudging Fondue to awaken him for his meal.

Just as the last piece of bacon was fought over and snatched up by a doggy snout, Raphael realized the time. Ten fifteen. The café was half an hour away on foot. Shit. He shuffled into his battered sneakers and, with a bid _adieu_ to Fondue of course, fled his building and dashed his way through the throng of people making their way to the markets.

He (miraculously) arrived only 5 minutes late to his destination. A quick glance over the outdoor tables held no profit onto who his said "fan" was, so he had no choice but to take a parasol-shaded table for two near the corner to wait. As time sluggishly made its way past, Raphael's mind began to wander. It was a rather nice café, wasn't it? The carefully-chosen coloring made everything feel warm and inviting, and the food looked cute and well made. The closeness to the constable headquarters made this place a safe point in the case of robberies, which he felt comforted by. He just might come back here in his spare time with his partner, maybe to split a croissant or two. He was so lost in thought he never noticed who pulled the chair across from him out and set down two sets of coffee and shortcake.


	2. Chapter Deux

Chapter Deux

When he finally pulled back from his dazed state, he almost leapt in fear of who was sitting across from him. Tanned skin, overly long stubble, the disgruntled mask permanently etched into his face, no doubt about it. Vergier. The accused slid his eyes over to face him, and after a moment of silence, he snapped his fingers in front of his glasses.

"Oi… Oi! Hello? Earth to dreamer boy?" He sneered, eyes suddenly hardening when he acknowledged that his opponent was aware of him. "It's nice to have you back with us today, monsieur. Care to eat what is in front of you? Or did I waste my money on a moron who cannot even lift a fork?"

He struggled to get his thoughts in order, before picking up the aforementioned silverware and snapping up a piece of shortcake. It was probably very delicious, but his tongue tasted too much like fear to tell. He then gathered up all his remaining strength and greeted the other man. "Hello, my name is Raphael-"

"I know that. How else do you think I got the invite to you? Guessing? Flipping a coin? Choosing the stupidest apartment and shoving the memo through _their _mailbox? Believe me, the latter is pretty close to what I would have done, had I not known, and I still would have gotten it right."

"Well, um, why am I here exactly?"

"Take a wild guess, I've got time."

Raphael thought for a bit. "You think I have the hots for your daughter?"

"Nah."

"You…r'e lonely?"

"Hah-ha. No."

"You think I'm cute?"

"…That is absolutely disgusting. I am contemplating leaving just for that comment."

He sheepishly smiled, "Worth a try…Well, why did you call me here, then?"

"Come on, a success such as you should be able to solve such a puzzle. You had no problem with the other one I had set up."

No. He couldn't be. He could not be implying-

Vergier sighed, "Look, I've narrowed it down. Your hair, your face, your dog, your act all together. You are Phantom R, the Rhythm Thief, non? Actually, don't even try to deny it, it's you. I am positive."

A cold sweat ran down the boy's neck. Oh god, he was going to be arrested, sent to rot in prison, given the death sentence, what will happen to Fondue he can't just be left there by himself oh dear god.

When he looked up, Vergier rolled his eyes. "Relax, Phantom R. I'm off duty today. I could care less if Jacques Mesrine popped up right in front of me this very second, not that this is any different."

"But," R questioned, "If not to arrest me, why call me here?"

"Look, Raphael," he said. "You're a good boy. Charlotte and I both agree on that. The question is, why? Why would you turn to this life of crime? Why would you repeatedly run away and get into more trouble? What drives you to do so?" The inspector stared at Raphael intently, refusing to let go until he got his answers. "This is just to satisfy my own human curiosity, none of this will go into record, and I swear it." He added on, trying to dilute the tension floating over cold coffee and half-eaten cakes.

Raphael's fear did not lessen, but there were questions to be answered. He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for my father, that is the main reason."

"Feh, what is this, one of Charlotte's novels?"

"I'm serious"

He glared, "I know."

There was a silence, broken by a quiet mumble on the boy's part. "He was the one who stole everything and replaced them with forgeries y'know… I only take what will help me find him."

Vergier slammed his hand on the table before looking up, flabbergasted, "Wait,wait, wait, backpedal for a second there; you are telling me that those paintings, in the _Louvre, _are all _fakes?!"_

"Well not the recent additions but-"

"This is unbelievable,_ how could I have missed them?!"_

"You're causing people to stare Inspec-"

"_Why?! Why would someone do this?!"_

"_**For me, dammit!" **_

The café chatter halted, and all eyes were on him. The Inspector's mouth was agape, brow twisted, eyes focused.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked slowly, as he was carefully avoiding another explosion.

Raphael fell back into his chair, and waited for the chatter to continue before whispering. "I was very sick, you know, and I will leave it at that."

"Wh-? No, wait! Raphael!"

And on that note, Phantom R was stiffly walking down the street back to his apartment, eyes red, and hoping the inspector following close behind would lose his way.


	3. Chapter Trois

Ugh, pardon the long wait. I've forgotten about this fic for, what, 4 months? I am truly terrible. Regret courses through my veins. Anyway, crying boys hooray!

* * *

Chapter Trois

If it had not been obvious that he was in tears halfway down the road, it was more than apparent now. That bastardly inspector was undoubtedly still on his trail (not that it mattered, the guy knew where he lived) and it took all he could to not go sprinting away and cast even more public embarrassment unto himself. Luckily, the complex he called 'home' was just around the corner, and his suffering of being tailed would end at the doorstep. Just a few more feet to go. The constant pressure of eyes on his back made the trip feel more prolonged.

As soon as his sneaker hit the wood of the entryway floor, as soon as the lock on his door ensured his safety, he collapsed.

"Why?" he mumbled through his sniveling, "Why, oh why, do painful memories have to be drawn out? And by my public enemy of all people?"

He never even noticed Fondue curl up next to him, giving him all the comfort a canine such as himself can give, whispering caring nothings into his ear through whimpers, 'It'll be okay, my partner,' 'I smell your tears, and I wish for nothing else but to lick them up and make them disappear.'

Raphael nestled his fingers into the sleek fur of his faithful companion and pulled him into an embrace, much like a toddler would to a stuffed toy after a nightmare. He lay there for who knows how long, wallowing in woeful memories of childhood past.

* * *

The dinner table never was all that lively in the Vergier household, even to the point where apathetic would be describing the atmosphere lightly. Of course, the daddy-daughter duo contributed nothing to change that air surrounding them, so the situation was not a negative one, but neutral ground at best. Conversation was brought up once every few moons, but always pit-patted its way out with a result of the ever-rising awkward pressure choking one of the two to the point of leaving the room, meal unfinished.

Vergier raised his eyes from the plate laying in front of him, sight directing towards the one and only detective of the household; holding her phone in one hand, absent-mindedly twirling her fork in the other. He knew their dinner time was one of silence, but maybe, just maybe, she could get his gears turning and thoughts blazing on the case of the redhead he had seen puffy-eyed and running. She was the best, (though unofficial,) detective he knew of, for pete's sake! (Given the only other he was acquainted with was a complete nutcase who couldn't give a lick of responsibility towards the force due to his overwhelming greed and ego.) So, he decided to ease some ideas out of her without bringing up the subject.

Here goes nothing. "So… Um, how is the food tonight?"  
Her father's voice snapped her out of her momentary electronic trance. "Oh! Uh, yeah, it's good, if I do say so myself. It's not like you can go wrong with spaghetti though…Heh..."

"Mmmm…"

"Yeah…" she mumbled, attention turning back to her phone.

"...Charlotte?"

"Hmm?"

Her full attention was on him. The calculating gaze he was on the receiving end of sent off the warning signals and he remembered shit, she's a detective, this wont get past her! "Uh… Never-…. Nevermind."

The outcome of his decision was worse than what he expected.  
"Dad, something's up, isn't it?"

Shit. "No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking about some things."

"Like…?"

"Why should I tell you? You would only try to weasel your way into this mess with me."

"W-weasel..?! It's a detective's duty to weasel!"

"You're not a detective."  
"Ferme ta bouche!*"

"Charlotte!"

"Ugh! I can't stand you!"

"Charlotte, just listen to me!"  
"Oh, so now you want to spill the beans. What case can't you figure out, Monsieur Grande Inspecteur?"

"There is no case!"

"Well then what is it?!"

The argument came to a standstill at that moment, both of them red-faced and on their feet, chairs pushed back and hands on the table. In a flash of realization they noticed what a mess they must have been, and in a quick shuffle of embarrassment and mumbled apology, their chairs were uprighted and they were sitting at the table once more.

Vergier began. "Well, today I made a mistake- don't you 'pfft' at me, missy!- and I, um, upset someone who I would like to know more about- no, no girlfriend- and I would like to find some way to, uh, apologize to him?"

"So the guilt is setting in, huh? For once in your life you're being humane, father o' mine. Might I inquire why you are asking your daughter though? Love isn't a private eye's business as much as thievery you know."

Oh, why did she say thief? "The subject at hand is more in your jurisdiction as a teenager than mine, and i think your opinion might be of more result compared to my own, so to speak."

"Heh, you old coot. Well, you upset him, right?" He nods. "Was he pissed?" He nods again. "Did he cry?" Reluctantly, he nods. She hisses at the thought. "Oooh, you messed up big time."

"Yes, I know that already, get on with the telling of what I can do to fix this."

She smirks. "Grovel."

"...What"  
"You heard me, beg. Plead for forgiveness. You've knocked down a teenage boy's ego, and if I know anything about high school boys and their esteem, having an adult come for mercy is the biggest way to one up their spirits."

"..."

"Don't worry, you don't have to get on your knees or anything, just let them know you need their approval."

"...This is embarrassing."

"Yeah? How do you think the poor kid running away in tears feels?"

"...Touche."

Charlie rose from her seat. "Relax, boys are stupid creatures. Even a nicely worded letter would work on them, for heaven's sakes." She picked up her plate and held out a hand for her father's. "Gimmie."

He handed it over.

"And with your plate, I bid adieu." She says, halfway through the doorframe already, leaving Vergier in wonder of how he would be able to do this.

* * *

*Ferme ta bouche - Shut your mouth

Thank you Guest fro correcting me!


End file.
